


Run

by squaredplanet



Category: The Vampire Diaries & Related Fandoms, The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: AH - Freeform, AU, Bromance, Crimes & Criminals, F/M, Family, Family Drama, Swearing, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-09-23 12:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20339761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squaredplanet/pseuds/squaredplanet
Summary: It's not every day you meet your twin in prison.AU/AH. A story told in 2nd person.





	1. Riot

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for clicking! This complete story is currently posted on FF, but I wanted to revise it, so I'll post it here as I go through each chapter. Definitely will not change anything plot/story-wise but it should be better written. Hope you like it!

_Riot: a violent disturbance of the peace by a crowd._

"I'm…," _ innocent. _

You begin, though you only affirm the end to yourself.

You gave up protesting to every person who looked at you that way as soon as they figure out but it's a habit you still need to verbally break. They won't believe you. They haven't for the past months they've had this case—the past months that's literally ruined your already messed up life—and there's no point in wasting your breath.

You're innocent, though, and you tell that to yourself because you are.

Ignoring the guard who has just rhetorically spoken to you, you keep going.

The corridor isn't too long, and before you know it you're facing another grey faced guard, simultaneously sizing you up and looking at the chart in her hand.

She nods her head, and there's a buzz.

The woman pulls at the ring of keys on her hip and flips through it, before roughly grabbing your wrist and unlocking your cuffs.

She doesn't look at you again, but you already know to follow the guard who'd been dragging you through halls this entire time. The metal door to your right slides open, you pick up an awaiting pile of beddings and a pillow, and you head in.

You take a deep breath in. _ 'It's okay, Elena. You can do this.' _

It's supposed to be an assurance but as you walk through, you know nothing can prepare you for spending time in prison. For what should be the most youthful and best years of your life, you'll be locked up in a terrible place like Port Hill Penitentiary.

The officer leads you through another corridor that has a window to the main prison hall.

Peering in, you realize just how big this place is, even if you already factually know that the capacity for the entire prison is 1,856. Its current population is 1,451.

_ 'No.'_ You take another step, _ 'make that 1,452.'_

You read all that somewhere once you found out where you'd go, and you shake your head at your photographic memory. Now isn't the time be stating facts. Not when you're headed down to what feels like hell.

The officer leads the way through one last door before you're actually inside the prison hall.

Women loiter about, and the sunset from the high barred windows form shadows that remind you of scenes you've only seen in movies. The ceiling is high, supporting three floors of prison cells all lined up against the walls.

Though it's loud and noisy you begin to hear distinctive things that can only be directed to you.

Or _ about _ you, that is.

You hear whispers as you pass by, but they don't make any sense.

"She's out?" someone close enough murmurs.

"I can't believe this," comes from someone else.

They talk like they know you. Like you did something wrong, though _ wrong_ might not be the right word exactly, because ending up here, you had done something wrong, hadn't you? And besides, everyone here has done something wrong.

You shake your head and think, _ 'Stop looking at me.'_

You try not to duck your head too low or to look like you're intimidated, but you also notice that there are several others who nod their head or offer a friendly grin in your direction.

You have no idea what any of that means, but you follow the officer up a flight of stairs and walk down the metal balcony. It passes several open cells and several loitering women; you're shown to your own cell. The place you'll be living in for the next so and so years.

"It's almost lights out. You'll have orientation tomorrow," the guard says mundanely, her bored expression evident.

When she leaves, you're left in the open cell by yourself.

Its small, you note, consisting of a yellowing sink, a shiny white toilet that looks new and a bunk bed that takes up half the space. You've been in smaller places, so you can't complain. You hold the blanket and pillow in your arms.

The bunk at the bottom has two pillows and two blankets, folded, but no one is around.

You drop your stuff onto the top bunk.

"Kat, they let you out early?"

The voice appears behind you and you turn, seeing a blonde girl with her hair in a braid over her shoulder.

She's pretty, you think, though what catches you is her accent.

She doesn't look the least bit criminal; young, almost like a regular blonde cheerleader from your old high school that you would've been friends with. You immediately wonder what she could've done to end up here.

"Huh?" is what you manage to say because you don't understand. _ Let out? _ You'd just been brought in. "What are you talking about?"

The blonde ignores your question and squints at you. She steps into your cell, and touches your hair, "How did you manage to straighten your hair?"

"It's naturally straight," you shake your head, and though you're not trying to be rude you want some time alone, "Are you my cellmate?"

The girl looks confused and then she looks behind her and then back to you. "You're joking, right?"

A bell rings before you can answer and there's an incoherent shout outside.

"Come on," the blonde chuckles a little and takes your arm. She pulls you to stand outside where everyone seems to be standing in front of their cells too. She raises her brows, "We'll talk okay?"

You have no idea what she's talking about but you're too tired to correct her right now. She goes to stand beside another blonde who nods her head at you, and it seems other than being friends with whoever they think you are, you're also neighbors.

You cringe, already feeling the awkwardness for when this person comes back and you have to explain who you are.

An officer walks down the space between prisoners and their cells, calling out names for roll call.

"Yousef, Nahar, Pentton, Smith," it seems they all go by last names and the woman in uniform is three cells down before you begin to hear her clearly. She continues, "Anderson, Isles."

She stops in front of you, looking at the clipboard in her hand.

"Pierce, it says here you finally got a roommate. Where's," she glances at you and then flips the paper in her hand, brows furrowing, "Gil-bert, Elena Gilbert?"

"I'm Elena Gilbert," you say, and from the corner of your eyes both blondes snap their attention to you. They look confused. You are too.

How much do you really look like this other girl? You're a little curious now, if not annoyed by it.

The guard, H. Kilton—according to the stitched name tag on her uniform—stares at you disbelievingly. She has a harsh expression on her already scowling face.

You've been in Port Hill well below an hour and already you feel the tension from her like she hates you. Even though that might be directed towards whoever you supposedly are, you hate her back already.

"It's late. I don't have time for this. I know you're not used to it," she sounds sarcastic, "but here cellmates have the responsibility of knowing the other's whereabouts during roll call. Now it says here she's been signed in. You're wasting my time. Where the fuck is Gilbert?"

"I," you emphasize, "_am_ Elena Gilbert. Now if you just stop wasting your own time maybe everyone can get on with their lives."

You spit this out, almost regretting that you said it but this woman's expression or the notion that she's already judging you because of who she thinks you look like, makes you feel justified.

There's a whip that sounds before you feel your jaw slide under your upper teeth.

The left side of your face suddenly stings, and you place your hand on your left cheek.

"That'll teach you some manners," you hear her say, and you waste no time of your own to twist around and bring down a right hook squarely on her face.

Maybe it's your exhaustion, or easily irritable disposition at the moment but just as she falls, you push her down with a kick and you jump on top, hitting her over the face as she tries to claw at you. You've read and seen just enough about anatomy to know just where to hit someone from this position with the least retaliation.

Before you know it, you're being pulled to your feet and you're thrashing.

Someone else replaces you, beating on H. Kilton and chaos ensues.

"Calm down! Calm down!"

It's one of the blondes, the one that spoke to you, and when you start doing as she says you find yourself sitting on your feet, with both blondes giving you looks. You glance at your bloody knuckles and try to catch your breath.

"What the fuck was that?" the second girl spoke. She doesn't have an accent, and she manages to look both concerned and confused.

"Look," you begin, its best you clear things up now. And besides you hate that they're assuming you're someone else, "I'm not…," you pause because you aren't really clear on this person's name, "I'm not who you think I am."

The first blonde, the one with the accent, feels your forehead, and you realize the scene behind her. It's the same to your side, and actually all _ around_ you.

There's a whistle on the other side of the prison but it's soon drowned out by shouts. Everything looks like the hell you pictured earlier, and you're sort of mortified.

Did you just start a riot?

"Your temperature is normal," the girl frowns, sharing a look with the other, "what the bloody hell happened in solitary? Did they accidentally bring you to the mental ward?"

Now you frown, so this woman was in solitary. But mental ward? Was she as blonde as she looked?

"No, I'm not who you think I am. I'm new. My name is Elena Gilbert and I did just come in today," you say, frustrated.

They glance at each other again. If you really do look a lot like this girl, then you must sound so insane right now.

Between their stare on you, you realize the noise has died down.

A woman, a red head, gathers the attention of the three of you. She says something and then motions over the railing to the center of the prison hall.

You look over.

It seems everyone involved has come together there, forming a circle around figures you can't see very well from this angle. Those who hadn't participated still stood in front of their cells, leaning over railings and watching.

The blondes are behind you, so you have no choice but to lead the way down the stairs and through the crowd.

It parts where you walk and soon you see the middle.

The officers, four of them, are in the center of the floor. They're battered and bruised and you're not exactly sure what you're supposed to do. You catch the eye of H. Kilton and she glares at you through bloodied teeth.

"You're going back," she spits out.

Your eyes narrow, she had hit you first.

You look around and you wonder if your retaliation was the reason _why_ the riot started, or if everyone had just wanted to start a spur of the moment rebellion.

There's a buzzing at the door you came through earlier and more than two dozen uniformed men and women run through batons and firearms in hand.

"Get back!" the one who leads them shouts.

They form a circle that pushes away the prisoners to the walls and to the stairs, all of whom are too wary of getting shot.

You step back as well.

The rescuing guards circle the four wounded and over her shoulder the leader addresses them, "Warden wants to know what happened. Who started it?"

H. Kilton points a shaking finger at you. And only you.


	2. Warden

_Warden: a person responsible for the supervision of a particular place or thing or for ensuring that regulations associated with it are obeyed. _

In the 10 minutes you'd been in Port Hill, you find yourself in cuffs again.

You're anxious, to say the least, but then again you haven't been able to relax for so long you don't remember ever being less tense.

You sigh as your eyes scan the room and the cuffs around your wrists clink together.

It's not that big—the Warden's office. The main double doors that lead to the hall are open and the windows along the wall reveal an empty hallway. There are three potted plants, several uncomfortable chairs—one that you're currently occupying—and a closed door on the opposite side of the room with a secretarial desk beside it.

A woman in her late sixties sits behind the desk, blabbing on the phone.

You glance at the officer who brought you here.

He's facing you, his back to the open doors, but he's clearly just staring into space.

Just as bored out of your mind, you tilt your head and listen to the seconds tick away. According to the loud mounted clock, it's been six minutes since you came in and Amanda Philber, the secretary, waved her hand for you to sit.

You lick your lips and bring your hands up to massage your cheek.

It doesn't sting or anything but that back hand you got earlier started all this and single-handedly landed you here.

Mrs. Philber hangs up and look towards you over her glasses.

Oddly, you feel like you're in elementary and your being sent to talk to the principal.

"The warden is ready for you," she says in a nasally voice, and points to the closed door.

The officer motions for you stand up as if you aren't already doing it yourself. You walk towards the door; he opens it and you go in. He doesn't follow and instead shuts the door.

Your eyes scan the room and land on the desk in the middle with an office chair facing the window. You take a seat at one of the other chairs in front of the desk and eye the name plaque.

_Warden Carolyn Lockwood_, it read.

"Of course, Tyler. I don't imagine you would do anything else," she swivels the chair around to face you, "Okay, bye."

Placing her phone on the desk, she looks at you and purses her lip. You have no idea what that expression reads but you can tell it isn't any good.

"There are currently over one thousand prisoners here and for once I was actually hoping you weren't involved," she straightened, "I guess that's just wishful thinking on my part, Katherine."

_Katherine._ You sigh, and mutter, "Good god, still."

"Excuse me? If you have something to say, now is the time to say it," Warden Lockwood lifts her brows in that universally challenging way.

You repeat what you say, if not a bit more respectfully.

"Of course, this again! Tell me, Katherine, how many times have you walked into my office since you've been here? Or better yet, this past month?"

"My name isn't Katherine," you shake your head in frustration, "With all due respect, Warden," because really, if there's anyone's good side you should stay on, it should be the warden's; and other than your mistaken identity, you really did start that riot... for the most part. "I'm not who you think I am."

"Oh?"

"Look, I know this probably sounds absurd but I'm not this Katherine."

You don't miss the way she straightens more—if that was even possible—in her chair as she gives you a blatant look of skepticism.

"I have no idea what's going on, but I just recently came in, was shown to my cell, and then was attacked by one of your—," you stop, correcting yourself, because you don't wanting to sound like you're blaming her, "—one of the officers. My name is Elena Gilbert."

At the sound of your name the warden gets a look of confusion, "Elena Gilbert?"

"Yes!" you exclaim. Maybe you're finally getting through to someone. "That's right."

She narrows her eyes and with a stern look, however, she says, "I will not have you going around causing mayhem in this prison. Last I checked you had gone to Solitary, and that is exactly where you're heading back."

"Whoa," Abruptly, you stand up, "hold on! You're not listening to me; I am _not_ this girl! You have to believe me!"

The warden goes to pick up her office phone and you slam your cuffed hands on top of hers, "Look I can prove it!"

"What do you think you're doing?" she pulls her hand from under yours, "I should call the guard…"

You ignore her and speak over her words, "Look for this girl. She should be in prison somewhere, come on!"

"This is not a game, Ms. Pierce. I will not have you make my guards run around this facility to look for you, when you're right in front of me."

"My name is Elena. And this Katherine? I heard people talking and complaining that she was let out early when they saw me! Just check solitary. Call them up, you don't even have to leave this room!" you look her in the eyes and can't help but beg, no matter how ridiculous this all is, "_Please_."

You pick up the phone with one of your hands and after a long skeptical glare, she takes it.

The buttons click as she dials, but through all that, her eyes don't leave your face.

You're the one who breaks eye contact, and you sit, sighing once more.

"This is your warden. I'd just like an update on Pierce, number 901465."

She pauses and you distinctly hear a muffled voice respond.

"Oh?" there's surprise in her tone but it's masked mostly by her stern voice, "I see. Thank you."

You resist the urge to tell her 'I told you so,' and look to her eagerly.

"I can't quite believe it, but this is a hard lie, even for Katherine."

"So, what now?" you ask.

You don't even care that she doesn't apologize.

"We start by you telling me what exactly it is that happened in Block D," she said, referring to the riot.


	3. Solitary

_Solitary: (of a place) secluded or isolated; done or existing alone._

Solitary.

Despite the huge misunderstanding, you now sit in the dark with your back on the wall and your ass on a cot.

You'd explained your side; how, without _much_ prompt, Kilton had backhanded you. Warden Lockwood had given you a punishment, and even as she had explained her reasoning, you couldn't help but feel like you'd been thrown in the pit just because.

"_I can't have prisoners thinking that they can't respect the guards,"_ she had said.

You roll your eyes now at the blatant double standard.

As if Kilton respected you in that situation. You shake your head. Now, as an example, you're stuck here for twenty-four hours.

'_Couldn't she have given me garbage duty or something?' _you think, because no matter what you've always hated being alone.

You rub your arm when a shiver goes through you.

Whatever.

You'll get this over with and when you're out you'll avoid Kilton, so you won't be tempted to punch her in the face again. When you're out, you'll focus more on counting down the days till you're out for real.

A couple hours later, you're lying down.

You have no idea what time it is, but it feels like a couple hours later and the silence is getting to you. What is that they say? Time goes slower in the dark. Or maybe it's the other way around.

_Breathe in._

Breathe out.

_Breathe in._

You shift in the cot so that you lay on your left, facing the wall.

You're getting tire of hearing yourself breathe but there's nothing else to listen to (other than that softly spinning fan you can't see).

"They weren't kidding about solitude," you say out loud just to hear something.

"No, duh," a girl's voice replies and you jump.

You turn your head, and even though you don't expect to see anyone, your gaze moves to the slot on the door that brings in light from the hall.

There's no one there.

"You're probably wondering where my voice is coming from."

You nod in response before realizing she can't see you.

None the less the girl continues on, "Beside you. Or… well, technically I'm in the cell next to yours. The vents between these two are pretty close."

"Oh… um," you say, lamely. You search for the vent she's talking about with what little light you have but you can't spot it.

"Do you know what time it is?"

You pause at such a random question.

"No, I'm as lost as you are," you say and then it turns quiet.

The fan continues to spin.

You don't even grasp that you're waiting for a reply until you hear your breath again.

Momentarily, you wonder if you've suddenly gone insane.

'_She's not responding,'_ you think and then frown when you realize something.

That girl, Katherine—she's supposed to be in solitary as well. So, unless she was let out in the time it took for Lockwood to throw you in here then she has to still be here.

What are the chances this is her?

This girl who looks-enough-like-you-for-other-people-to-mistake-you-for is already your cellmate, it wouldn't be much of a stretch to think that fate put her on the other side of this wall. But you don't believe in fate, and that would be one hell of a coincidence on top of an already big coincidence.

You think to ask her name but then the girl speaks, "So, what'd they bring you here for?"

"A riot," you say, truthfully.

She whistles, loud enough that you hear it over the fan.

"What about you?" It's only fair she shares her story.

"Got into a fight," she says, and you can almost imagine that shrug with the way she says it, "No riots or anything but it got pretty intense."

You chuckle, "One hell of a fight to land you here."

"Yeah, well you should see the other girl. Besides, she's in here too."

You take that as your cue.

There are, after all, over one thousand prisoners here and you want to know. "Uh, what was your name again?"

"Oh man, completely forgot to introduce myself. My name's Bonnie. And you are?"

"Elena."

"Cool, nice to meet you, I guess. Where are you from?"

"Virginia?" you say, unsure. Isn't everyone here from Virginia? This is a state prison after all.

Bonnie laughs, "I meant which section block are you from?"

"Oh," you think back, remembering someone telling you where you were being taken and noting the giant white D on the walls of said place. Plus, when Lockwood asked you what happened, she mentioned Block D, so you say so.

"Really?" she sounds surprised, "I'm from Block D too. Have we met?"

"Oh, I just came in actually. First day here."

"Wow, one hell of a riot then," she says, mimicking your earlier statement.

"I guess," you shrug, "I just want to get out of here."

"How long?" she inquires, and you immediately know what she's talking about.

"Twenty-four hours. You?"

"Seventy-two. I _think_ I'm almost done."

"That's... cool," you say awkwardly.

After a while, you grow quiet because you have no idea what else to say. You always did hate small talk, but now that you're not even face to face with this person you feel uncomfortable ending it like that.

At least in person you could walk away from someone you wanted to stop talking to.

When Bonnie doesn't say anything else you just sigh.

_BZZZZZ!_

The loud buzz wakes you up, and you hear the metal doors from where the guards come in open.

You don't think about it much but when a few guards stop near your door it catches your attention.

You sit up, realizing that it's not your door they're opening but the one beside yours.

"Bennett, wake up!"

You're on your feet and you sit at the slot on your door, peering out of it.

The guards lead a light skinned girl out of the cell to your right and you wonder if that's Bonnie. You still have no idea where that vent you both were speaking through is, so you don't know if she was either to your left or to your right, but once she speaks you sort of recognize her.

"Yeah, yeah," she pulls her arm from one of the guard's grasp.

From down the hall you notice another door is also being pulled open, and a girl with only the bottom half of her blue prisoner jumpsuit zipped up has her back turned to you. Her hair cascades down her back in curls in what (in hindsight) you could admit is a similar colour to yours.

You narrow your eyes.

You did vaguely hear someone shout out the name Pierce as the other guards were calling Bonnie. Was this Katherine?

The guards surrounding her are fiddling with her cuffs.

When Bonnie passes her, you see the shorter girl glare, which Katherine responds to by tilting her head and lifting her cuffed hands, waving with her fingers.

"Hey, Bon Bon."

Bonnie leaves and Katherine and her guards follow suit.

Bonnie's glare, and the fact that they're leaving together, makes it pretty clear that they're the reason both of them were in here.

You scoff as you go back to your cot, but you can't help the corners of you lips lift in slight amusement.

From what can tell so far you conclude one thing about Katherine.

'_What a bitch.'_


	4. Identical

_Identical: similar in every detail; exactly alike._

You can only guess its afternoon the next day when a few guards pull you out of Solitary.

You'd been brought briefly back to Lockwood's office for an "official" warning before sending you back to Block D.

Twenty-four hours has passed and when they bring you back to the doors for the block, they take off your cuffs.

Unlike the first time they nod you towards the door and you realize you have to go in by yourself.

You have no idea if that's a good thing or a bad thing but you suddenly feel like you're in high school again, walking into the cafeteria right after life pulled that _Veronica Mars_ on you, taking with it your status along with all your so called friends.

You sigh.

If you're being honest, you have no idea what happened last time, but bottom line was, you started a riot that somehow escaladed because they thought you were someone else.

Internally, you tell yourself to _calm down_ because it's not like these women—these _criminals_, will do anything to you, right? It was a huge misunderstanding. It wasn't your fault.

Heck, if you were going to point fingers it'd be directed to Kilton.

The door buzzes and you step through.

As you walk, the way still parts for you and once again there are whispers.

This time though they're so mixed you hear both confusion and gossip.

"Weird," someone says, which in response you hear, "Weird? Don't you mean creepy?"

"What the fuck," comes under someone else's breath.

The most common question is, "Are they related?"

But what makes you roll your eyes is the blatant, "Like one of her wasn't enough," from a woman surrounded by others that glare at you.

You ignore them as you walk by.

Closer to the stairs, you spot who you recognize is Bonnie.

You only did see her from the slot on your door so you're not 100% sure, but you take a guess that it is.

She's peering at you, like everyone else, but her brows are furrowed. She's probably confused at how the person she had been talking to over a vent in Solitary looks a lot like the person who landed her there in the first place.

She's not the only one, because you're just as damn puzzled.

How alike can you actually look to Katherine anyway?

You meet Bonnie's eyes as you pass but neither of you say anything.

Going up the stairs, you pause at the top as you spot the front of where your cell should be.

There has to at least be ten people standing there.

You look at the white block letters above each cell; D268, D270, D272. You count them and confirm that D276, your cell, is currently being swarmed by these women.

Just like when you first came in, all the whispering on the main floor dies away as the women disperse to do their own thing.

As you turn your attention back to your destination, you square your shoulders a bit more before moving forward.

The small crowd is talking among themselves, but it doesn't take that long for them to realize you're there and like a plague, they part for you. A lot of them begin to walk away.

Once you do get inside the only people left are the blondes from earlier and the figure of the other person you saw through that door slot. Her back is to you as she stuffs something under her pillow.

Blonde One glares at you and Blonde Two purses her lips. Blonde One (you remember as the one with the accent) places a hand on Katherine's shoulder to get her attention.

She turns around and you have to blink a few times in order to make sure you aren't looking in a mirror or something.

"Hm?" she looks at Blonde One before following her gaze to you.

Katherine pauses, surprise jumping onto her face before she narrows her eyes.

"You guys weren't kidding," she says, not at all caring that you hear.

"It's almost roll call," Blonde Two speaks, gesturing to Blonde One, "Come on, Rebekah. Let's go."

The two leave and you turn back to look at the girl who, you have to admit, really does look like you.

If it wasn't for the fact that her hair falls down in curls or, that fresh cut on the left side of her lip (that you can only assume she got from her fight with Bonnie) then you two would no doubt be reflections of each other.

Disturbing. It's so bizarre you're left kind of speechless.

Katherine tilts her head, and you come out of your disbelief enough to move towards the bunk.

"You must be Elena," she says, when you're right beside her.

You eye her with an equally calculating stare and nod, "And you must be Katherine."

Stepping up to a rung on the bunk you look at your bed and see that your pillow and blanket are still where you left them.

You feel, rather than hear, Katherine lie down on the bottom bunk before you step up to sit on your own bed.

Oddly enough the silence is more tense than awkward, but it's not like you _want_ to say something.

Sure, you're curious, but you've read of doppelgangers; a person who looks like you but has no relation to you whatsoever. You've read its bad luck, but you also know it's quite the rarity. Only briefly does your thought remind you that you are, in fact, adopted and there's a chance you're actually related to this girl.

You scoff.

_Yeah right._

It's been a long time since you've had thoughts about a family other than the one you have and you're not naïve enough (anymore) to think like that. Hell, even if that was true, you don't care to find out if Katherine was also adopted or if somehow your biological parents decided to keep her and not you.

The thought is cast away before you even really think about it, and you lie down just as the bell rings.

Katherine gets off her bed and without a word, leaves.

You get up as well, remembering that at this time there was roll call before you got shipped off to the warden's office. You sit up and jump off the top bunk, following everyone's lead to stand in front of their cells.

You stand beside Katherine. To her right is that other blonde and Rebekah.

Katherine whispers to the blonde beside her before the guard calling out names gets close. "Did you talk to her? It's fine, Caroline. Seriously."

_Caroline_. Blonde Two is Caroline, you note.

You don't know what they're talking about and you focus on the uniformed woman coming towards you.

It's not Kilton—her tag says A. Fields, and she pauses at you with a glare, "Gilbert."

She looks to Katherine and to you a few times but doesn't say a word.

"Pierce," she continues, "Forbes, Mikaelson, Renfield, Lowing…"

The officer continues, and you glance down the aisle at her before turning away.

From your peripheral, you see Katherine turn her head to you.

She looks you up and down, and you glance back.

She narrows her eyes and from her expression you don't think you can read her despite her similarities with your mirror.

Unnervingly, you turn away only to notice everyone else. A lot, if not all, the women are staring at you, including the people from the other balconies across the room. Your eyes go to your left where your neighbors, Isles and Anderson, quickly turn away.

Down the hall and on the other floors you can still hear the guards calling out names but they're far away.

You immediately look to Katherine.

"What?" you demand, though not as harshly as you would've liked, "What are you all looking at?"

Katherine's lips turn up slightly, and she scoffs, "Don't ask me. I don't speak for them."

Technically, everyone speaks for themselves and it's not specifically Katherine that's _forcing_ them all to look at you, but even then, you feel like it's her fault. Maybe it's the way she doesn't at all seem confused or fazed that you both share a face. It makes you feel like she's orchestrating some big universal joke on you.

Or maybe it's just that she shares your face in general, but she bothers you altogether.

You dignify her with a look and turn away.

She breathes out a short chuckle before she goes back to ignoring you.

A few more names down the line and you hear the buzz go off again. Chatter picks up as everyone begins to walk to their respective cells and likewise you do the same.

There's a shout and another buzz, and then the door slides close behind you.

The space is small and having another person standing inside with the door closed feels, for lack of better word, confining.

Katherine goes to the small desk across the bunk. She pulls open the drawer, pulls out a small notebook and sits on her bed.

She glances up at you and automatically you look away, moving towards the ladder.

A diary?

You almost snicker—even though, you undoubtedly still have yours on your shelf at home—but as you climb you see a part of a page she's opened.

Instead of rows and paragraphs of sentences, the numbers and letters are in small sequences. You only catch a glimpse of three before you climb fully onto your bed. You have no idea what the numbers mean and honestly, you don't really care.

Lying down you shake your head, and after a few passing guards you realize neither of you are going to say anything.

There's silence even as the lights go off and you can't help but feel on edge.

This is a prison and that's all-around, a pretty hostile environment (considering how fast a riot can happen) and under your bed there's a girl who looks exactly like you.

Again, you ask yourself the chances of this happening to anyone.

You frown at this thought—the thought of being confined to such a small space with this girl of all people. You never actually thought of making any friends in here, but you never pictured this either.

If you didn't know any better, you'd say you had somehow stepped into an episode of the Twilight Zone.

You roll your eyes, because honestly?

Just your luck.


	5. Incentive

_Incentive: a thing that motivates or encourages one to do something; a payment or concession to stimulate greater output or investment._

When they said you'd have orientation that first day they actually meant you'd just be given a piece of paper that outlined activities and facilities open to you at so and so specific times.

You didn't even know where the bathroom was for a good majority of the day after Solitary, and had instead, resorted to using the one in your cell.

That was three days ago—five in total since you've arrived in Port Hill Penitentiary.

Right now, supper has just started, and you sit at a table by yourself staring at the same slop you swear is two days old. You bite your bottom lip and place a hand on your growling stomach, trying to appease it with some cartoned milk.

At least you know they can't change the expiry date on that.

"Annoying, isn't it?"

From your peripheral, a tray is placed in front of yours and you're surprised when someone sits across from you.

Your brows raise, mostly because the eight other meals you've had in this cafeteria, so far, have been spent eating by yourself, and you let out a curious, "Huh?"

"The stares," Bonnie looks around which in turn makes people either turn away or continue staring.

'_Oh right.'_

It had been bothering you for a while but as of this morning, you'd been trying to ignore them. You'd been successful in doing so, that is, until she pointed it out.

"You'd think after a couple days they'd all realize that how you look, and sound isn't magically going to change."

You regard her with a small grin, "That would be nice."

"The changing part or them realizing part?"

"Whichever makes them stop," you say with a short chuckle.

Much like when you only had a voice to go by, Bonnie carries the conversation on with questions she has for you.

Where you're from: A little town called Mystic Falls.

How old you are: in which you learn she's a year younger.

What you did: something you don't or would rather not answer and sensing your unwillingness to share she doesn't prod you about it.

She does say that she's in here so young because of some hacking scheme she and her friends had done, resulting in the shutdown of power in a city not too far from her hometown.

"It lasted for quite a few days," Bonnie recalls with a nostalgic grin, "The city was trespassing on land that belonged to our town and dumping things that didn't belong to us in our forests."

"Karma's a bitch," you say and laugh.

"Yup. But I got caught," she offers a lopsided smile and shrugs.

"And your friends?"

"They were luckier. Everything the police found traced back to me, unfortunately. And I wasn't about to give up anyone else involved."

You nod at her loyalty as she carries the conversation. She's friendly, but you get the feeling that she's not the type to go out of her way to make friends with just anybody.

You can't exactly tell if that's a good thing or not.

"But I have to say," Bonnie begins, pushing her tray away and tilting her head at you, "Save for the curls, you and Katherine really look alike."

When she doesn't comment further, you raise a skeptical brow and chuckle, "What? No, _'Do you know each other'_ question?"

"No," Bonnie shakes her head, "Judging from Caroline and Rebekah's reactions, Katherine doesn't seem to know you and well, those three have apparently known each other since they were kids."

"Really?" you're not that interested in knowing about your equally disinterested roommate but being informed of a few things won't hurt. Gossip or not (mostly the latter), information is something you enjoy taking in.

"Yeah," she shrugs, "And Isobel is practically her adoring aunt."

"Isobel?"

Bonnie looks surprised but she shakes her head, "Oh yeah, you're basically a newborn around here."

"Should I know her?" you ask with just a hint of skepticism.

She chuckles, "If you don't now, you will for sure. This is a prison; this place is filled with criminals and as much as they'd like to think the Warden and her guards, they don't run this place."

You get what she's saying, but your brow raises in question anyway.

"Every section block has at least one person devious and manipulative enough to be able to influence people into following them. Though _lucky_ for us there's two people like that around here," Bonnie continued. Her sarcasm makes it obvious she doesn't agree with whatever hierarchy they have going on.

You can say you _have_ heard something like that around here, but only in passing.

You've heard through some whisperings about the same "higher ups" Bonnie's referring to, having some rivalry with each other. You were curious, sure, but you didn't even think twice about it till now.

"There's Isobel, and Sage. Sage is that red head over there."

Discreetly, you look over to where she points, and you spot the woman in question. She's surrounded by six others, chatting as they eat.

"So, her and Isobel, they're the ones I heard about having a rivalry?" you confirm.

Bonnie nods, not shocked that you've heard at least that much. "They have most of Block D divided, but if I were you, I'd stay as far away from either of them as possible."

"I'll keep that in mind," you say as you and she get up and throw out your trash.

The topic changes as you continue towards your block.

Heading through the open doors though, you note of a small crowd forming in the back as you go in. There aren't any guards in sight and two women coming from the direction of the fight walk towards you and Bonnie.

"I can't believe they're even trying still," one of them scoffs, but she stops short once she and her friend spot you.

Her friend clears her throat and they walk by, heading out the door you came.

You share a look with Bonnie who shrugs and jerks her head in the direction of the commotion.

When you get there there's only one layer of spectators and you realize why the sight of you had given the two some pause.

In the middle, you see a blonde older woman's fist connecting with the side of someone's face. You flinch when you see the blood on Katherine's face as she looks up, but her glare makes her look menacing rather than hurt.

Wiping blood from her lips, she smirks at the blonde and you can't help the corners of your mouth drop in curiosity.

"Now, now Sierra," she says, taunting, "Whoever taught you that violence is the answer?"

For the past three days, you can't deny that there have been an awful lot of fights.

You watched some, sure, just like everyone else did when they occurred. You never thought much about it, other than to mentally compliment the women of Block D with how well they execute things. And by that, you mean, how of all the fights that seem to happen in every corner, only three of those occurrences have gotten back to the guards resulting in some kind of punishment.

A warning would almost always come first.

Having said that though, you don't ever remember seeing Katherine get into one until now, despite how Lockwood made it seem like she got into fights all the time.

You look around the small crowd and notice that neither Rebekah nor Caroline are around. You'd wonder where they were but logically when she's alone is the only opportunity someone could get to pull your cellmate into something.

The blonde, Sierra, doesn't respond to Katherine.

Instead, she lungs for her trying for another right hook.

Katherine side steps it this time, and with speed that makes you narrow your eyes; she grabs Sierra's wrist and pulls her forward.

She steps around the stumbling blonde and gently kicks the back of her knees, making her fall.

"Oops," Katherine holds out her hands like she had nothing to do with what just happened, "Are you okay?"

On the floor, Sierra turns around, her chest heaving in anger.

From her pocket, she pulls out a makeshift knife—a shank.

The crowd steps back, as does Katherine, but her taunting grin only falters slightly. She tilts her head, "That's just a bit unfair, don't you think?"

"Not if it'll end your life," Sierra spits as she stands.

Features identical to yours form a smirk as a sharp breath is let out.

You feel anticipation build up in you as they stare off each other; Sierra looking for the right angle to use her weapon and Katherine with her ever taunting attitude.

You can't say you'd be surprised to learn she knows some form of marital arts, but you're not exactly confident that if you ever came against someone holding something so sharp, that'd you'd be just as nonchalant.

"Hey!"

The sudden faltering look on Sierra's face makes you look towards the voice.

It comes from behind you and you've only turned your head before the people beside you are already moving out of the way, including Bonnie. She pulls you with her.

"What the hell is going on here?"

The woman that arrives is someone you have yet to see, or maybe you just haven't been paying that much attention. She's a prisoner too, if that blue jumpsuit is any indication, and you feel Bonnie nudge you with her elbow.

She leans close and whispers, "That's Isobel."

Your mouth forms a silent _"Oh"_ and you watch as Isobel moves to the middle, standing between the fighting duo. She may stand between them but the person she's facing with her deadly glare is Sierra.

"Just what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

You don't miss the way Katherine's brows furrow at Isobel's back before the look is wiped from her face.

Despite the shank in front of her, Isobel steps forward. Sierra doesn't respond but she purses her lips, putting down her weapon.

"That's more like it."

"You can't do anything to me," Sierra says.

"Oh, can't I?"

The blonde frowns, "I'm not afraid of you."

This only seems to make Isobel smile, and you can see how she and Katherine could get along, "You should be."

"Isobel," Katherine speaks before the older woman can do anything.

"What?" she doesn't turn because someone else approaches from behind Sierra, taking the knife from the blonde's hand. "Sage. Nice of you to join us."

"What's this bitch done now?" the red head questions with her eyes pointing to Katherine.

Isobel doesn't dignify her with a response, but Sierra does and you figure she was talking to her in the first place.

"She attacked me," Sierra says.

"Right," Katherine laughs, "Because I'd give your basic ass the time of day."

When Sierra springs forward, Sage pulls her back.

Isobel tilts her head, "Keep your _dogs_ away from my girls."

"Girls?" Sage scoffs, "Don't you just mean Katherine? What is it with you and her anyways? Isn't she a bit too young for you, Isobel?"

Katherine laughs again before Isobel can say anything, "You wish you could have me."

"No, if I had a wish, I wouldn't waste it on you. We already know I don't have to lift a finger to you gutted on the floor. Just imagine how happy your mother would be."

This time as Katherine lungs forward, Isobel pulls her back.

Suddenly, you hear a loud whistle, and everyone stops.

You recognize the sound and quickly everyone disperses.

It's the three notes you've learned that no matter what the issue going on is, if you don't want to get caught, everyone listens. It's a warning sign for oncoming guards. From what you can tell, it's passed down from whoever spots the guard, to someone from the formed crowd.

Try as you might, you still don't know where it starts and how anyone know when to pass it on, seeing that it almost always has perfect timing.

When you and Bonnie are a safe distance, you look to her in question.

"Clashing sides?" you ask referring to the higher tension of the verbal fight compared to the physical one before it.

"Yup."

"So, what was with all that?"

"Which part?"

"Isobel, Sage. Sierra. It sounds like… Do you know why she was attacking Katherine?"

"Well, you already know those Isobel and Sage hate each other. But as for Sierra and Katherine," Bonnie sighs, looking at you up and down as she sits on a couch. You're in the recreational room now. It's somewhat empty, given that most people are loitering around their cells at this time. "It has mostly just to do with Katherine, actually."

"Uh huh."

"Let me start with this. We're criminals, right? And sometimes people are served sentences that other people out there in the world don't agree with."

"Okay."

"I've only been here for a few months, but apparently, it's almost tradition that women with too light a sentence, or women who people just want to get rid of are targeted."

"Targeted?" you say skeptically, guessing where she's going with this.

Bonnie nods, "A price is put on their heads and word gets in here from out there. And before you know it, that person's dead and someone's family or a savings account of whoever's responsible instantly gets rich. Lately, your… cellmate's been that target."

"Seriously?" you ask, realizing how stupid the question is. Of course, she's being serious. It's not that farfetched, but things like this deserve some level of disbelief.

"Dead serious. Though get this, it's been rumoured that the very people funding this target is Katherine's own family."

"What? Why would they do that?"

"You've heard of Franklin & Pierce Industries, right?"

Your brows furrow but then raise.

You had heard stuff on the news, but that seems like decades ago—it wasn't. If you remember correctly, that was before you were arrested for that crime you didn't committed.

"No way," you say in disbelief, recalling a full news segment in your head.

"So, you have? Franklin & Pierce Industries, founded and owned by the late Viktor Pierce."

"Murdered by granddaughter," you finish, picturing the flashing news title. You can hardly believe it. "_Katherine_ Pierce?"

"The very same. Katherine and I came here on the same day, she swore she was innocent, but I guess her family doesn't believe that."

"Is that why you—"

"Not why she and I ended up in Solitary. She was being a real bitch that day."

"Oh," you say, but your mind spins on this information.

It gives a light to Katherine that you never had, mostly because you and she never talk.

For all her cold shoulders and lofty, taunting attitude you can't picture her murdering anyone. Or maybe it's just that you can't picture yourself murdering anyone despite what a jury and judge thinks.

You frown to yourself as a thought occurs to you.

If Katherine is innocent, that's just one more thing you both share.

**Author's Note:**

> Leaving a kudos or comment will be much appreciated!


End file.
